A Mind of Silence
by Five Minutes Til Bedtime
Summary: One day the universe went silent. That was the day that Susan Foreman died and a new Susan was born.


Title: **A Mind of Silence**

Fandom: Doctor Who

Word Count: 923

Summary: One day the universe went silent. That was the day that Susan Foreman died.

* * *

It wasn't long after David died, at least not by Time Lord standards, that Susan hitched a ride off the planet. Her children were grown, as were her children's children and three generations past that and she was beginning to feel an itch in her skin – wrinkled and spotted as it was now – that her time amongst this family was ending. Many odd things were acceptable in the 22nd century, but even here a woman who keeps on living, on and on throughout the years, is bound to crop of interest of the unsavory sort eventually and Susan knew she had better get out while the getting was good.

She left the day the universe went silent.

Time Lord are telepathic beings – less invasive than some but still always, always connected to one another. At normal times, the connection remains nothing but a soft, warm feeling in the back of the mind – humming like the slight vibrations of the TARDIS's outside walls – a reassuring if small thing. It can't be turned off. It can't be shielded. It is as much of a part of a Time Lord as their two beating hearts.

And then, one day, it stops. Susan is in the market with her great-great-great-great-grandnephew when that little connection suddenly disappears. It doesn't hurt, it isn't a physical pain like a head ache, but she stops dead and clutches her head and cries out as if someone had struck her. She is aware of a high keening noise which takes her far too long to realize is coming from her and then she is looking up at her descendant's worried, wrinkled face while he tells her to "Just breathe, Aunt Susan" and the word is going black around the edges and there is nothing there, no hum, no warmth, nothing.

The word flickers for a moment and she sees nothing but fire and smoke and time – forces rushing around and around in a maelstrom of destruction. There is no sound. The universe is as silent as her head.

Her head. Oh, her head!

When she comes to it is but a second later. She is at the market on the floor of the street. The oranges she had been holding have rolled every direction on the floor, some squished and oozing under the many hurried feet of the worried eyes that surround her. Her nephew is holding her hand and his mouth is moving though she can't make out the words above the sound of the ambulance sirens.

It takes her a moment to realize that she feels pain – actual pain of the physical sense – and then that is all she can feel. Her chest is on fire – had someone stabbed her? No, her hearts had stopped. She couldn't feel her blood pounding any more, beating out that constant four beat message of life. Everything inside of her was silent, dead.

And then the change took over. It was her first and it was excruciating. She had just enough mind to push her nephew away and tell him to get back before it struck her. Pain like nothing she'd ever felt, but somehow not painful. It was like being drenched in a shower with the heat beyond scorching, dragged over the surface of a star, yet somehow manageable, bearable, though she threw back her head and screamed. The regeneration bubbled up inside of her, every cell changing, every cell dying and living. Susan was dying. Susan was just being born.

When she opened her eyes next it was to the same market, the same street, the same worried eyes. It was completely foreign and incredibly familiar.

She felt great and terrible all at once. Great in youth and health and strength. Terrible for the emptiness in her head.

Like a stallion she got to her feet, not hesitating but cautious. The ground was farther away then she remembered, her legs and arms longer but her fingers still delicate and bird like. Something tickled her neck and she reached back, feeling and seeing long chestnut hair running through her fingers. She felt her face – a long, slim nose, a hard chin, high cheekbones, long lashes. She wondered after the color of her eyes, her age, her face in a mirror.

Eyes of an unidentified color suddenly remembered themselves and flickered to the crowd of bystanders watching with jaws agape. Right.

Like a fox she smiled and promptly gave a small, sarcastic bow. Ooh, that was new. She'd never been so bold in her last life. Sweet, smart Susan. Susan who cried to her Grandfather and liked those silly humans. Susan who enjoyed the sixties. Susan who loved David. Susan the daughter, the wife, the mother, the grandmother. Susan Foreman. That was who she _was_. Who was she now?

She really didn't know.

She really, truly had no idea.

And so she jumped on the first idea that popped into her head – her silent, empty head – and she thought nothing of the consequences or the danger.

She ran – not away from something but to it, not from her family but towards it. Gallifrey was hurting, the Time Lords were silent, and Susan was no longer the type of person to _wait. _

She thought of her Grandfather, that poor miserable fool who'd only grown more foolish looking back that older she had gotten herself. He'd left her waiting. He'd left her so that she could grow up and grow strong and grow loved.

The old Susan had been content to wait.

Who was she now?


End file.
